


Consequences

by CanadianGarrison



Series: Choices and Consequences [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Athos's hat, Come Shot, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 00:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6351406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianGarrison/pseuds/CanadianGarrison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4526874">Athos's Hat</a>. You don't have to read that one first, but it's short and sweet and I would suggest it. </p><p>D'Artagnan discovers that there are consequences for every choice, and learns a very important lesson about discipline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consequences

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pansicles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansicles/gifts).



> Thanks to my #smuttyladies and certain #smuttyhusbands for audiencing and editing. Couldn't have done it without you! 
> 
> This is my first time attempting to write spanking, feedback and constructive criticism is welcome but please be gentle!

In the end, it wasn't anything he had said or done that had given him away. It was the quartermaster. And it was a disaster.

They were in the Garrison courtyard, Athos and Francois discussing uniforms for the new recruits while d'Artagnan listened in; he didn't have anywhere else in particular to be, and it was always good to learn more about how his regiment worked. Francois was gathering his requisition forms and preparing to leave when he turned to Athos with a concerned expression on his scruffy face.

“Is everything well with your hat, sir?”

“Of course,” Athos answered. “Why would there be a problem?”

“It's only… I saw your young friend here with your hat a few days ago, and wondered if he was taking it for repairs, though I couldn't imagine why you would not come to me with it.” Francois's tone betrayed a bit of offence alongside his concern. “You know I always care for the Musketeer’s entire uniform. But now I see that your hat is in good repair, so it seems my concerns were unfounded!” He ended on a happy note.

“Indeed,” Athos said, drawing the word out, an odd light in his eyes. “There was a brief concern, but it is all resolved now, as you can see.” Athos gestured to his hat as Francois nodded, and then walked him towards the gate. “We will see you in a week with the new equipment.”

Francois departed, blissfully unaware of the chaos he left in his wake. D'Artagnan couldn't help glancing around the Garrison, trying to find a hiding place or something to distract Athos before he could say anything.

“Well.”

Too late.

“That was… illuminating. Is there anything you would care to tell me?”

Oh God, the eyebrow. Athos was raising his eyebrow and d'Artagnan had no defences against it, none whatsoever.

“I… I may have… borrowed it? A little?”

“And why on earth would you do that, hm? Finally rebelling against being the only Musketeer without a hat?”

“No!” Oh shit, what answer could possibly be good enough, make sense, without being the truth? D’Artagnan was not cut out for this type of thing. “No, I just… needed it. For something. But it's fine now, you have it back, so.”

“So I see.” Athos did not seem satisfied with d'Artagnan's stammered explanation. “Follow me; we will continue this conversation in private.”

And that was all there was to it. Complete and utter disaster.

* * *

Athos led the way to an unused office behind the armoury; d’Artagnan knew it was there but had never been inside. He glanced around at the big empty armoire with doors hanging open, the old drawings on the wall, and the large table and stool where a desk and chair would usually sit.

“This used to be Francois’s office,” Athos said, setting his hat down on the table. “It seemed appropriate.”

D’Artagnan could only nod, not sure what was expected of him. Would Athos shout at him? He didn't seem angry, but then, he never seemed to feel much of anything, and d'Artagnan knew that wasn't true. He just kept it beneath the surface, contained, controlled.

“As you said, I do have my hat now, and so no harm was truly done.”

That didn't seem so bad.

“However, theft is a very clear transgression of our standards as Musketeers, soldiers who uphold the King’s Law.”

That was worse.

“Additionally, this has led me to question your commitment to our brotherhood, and to the rules governing that bond. You took advantage of my less-than-coherent state, and to what end? The fleeting satisfaction of playing a prank on your superior officer?”

So much worse. He'd made Athos think such a terrible thing, that d'Artagnan didn't care about him, didn't want Athos to be able to trust him, and how would he ever be able to repair that?

“Please, no! I didn't do it as a prank, and you must know that I respect you — more than anyone else, really!”

“Why, then? What prompted such a rash and ill-advised action?” Athos seemed truly interested, like he wanted to understand.

“I…” How could d'Artagnan possibly tell him, especially when he hadn't even understood it himself at first?

“Yes, I see you are not yet ready to answer me. But we will have this resolved before we leave this room, d’Artagnan. Even setting aside our own friendship, we simply cannot allow this type of behaviour to go unpunished.”

“Yes, sir.” D'Artagnan did his best to sound calm and collected, but his mind was racing. What kind of punishment could Athos possibly mean? What if it was too harsh, what if he couldn't handle it — would he lose his place among the Musketeers? He wasn't commissioned yet; surely Captain Treville would listen if Athos told him that d'Artagnan had to go.

And even more frightening, and more likely — what if he liked it??

“Very well. Stand in front of the table.” D’Artagnan did as he was told, as Athos began to pace back and forth behind him. “There are consequences to every action, and you already realize that I am not a man who trusts easily. That you have betrayed my trust shall be difficult to forget.”

“Athos, I'm so sorry —”

“Quiet, d'Artagnan. I did not give you permission to respond, nor to address me so informally at this time. Although you may forget this sometimes, I am still your superior officer.” D’Artagnan nodded, feeling more ashamed with every word Athos spoke.

“That said, I am also a man who believes in absolution of one’s sins, after confession is honestly given and penance is performed. Perhaps Aramis has had more of an effect on me than I usually admit. Will you do what it takes now to repair the breach between us, through the means I deem appropriate?”

“Anything, sir, just give me the chance.” Athos didn't usually speak like this, both formal and intimate, and d’Artagnan still couldn't quite imagine what his punishment might be. Would he have to apologize in front of all the other Musketeers? Do extra work detail in the Garrison instead of going out on missions with the others?

“Good. You will follow my orders with speed and diligence, and you will not speak unless you are answering a direct question… though you may make other sounds if you need to. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Other sounds? If he needs to? What did that even mean?

“Bend over the table.”

“What?” Over the — what?

Athos was suddenly right there beside d'Artagnan, shoving him down roughly until he was bent at the waist, head down, hands on the table in front of him, nearly touching Athos's hat. One heavy hand remained on d'Artagnan's back, between his shoulder blades, holding him in position.

“You agreed to obey, boy. Does your word mean nothing? Or will you do as I tell you?” Athos’s voice sounded entirely calm again, but there was a hint of heat underneath that was new, new and intriguing.

“I will, I'm sorry!” D’Artagnan was abruptly glad that he was facing away from Athos — he was hard, hot all over and so hard from just the rough touch and the thought that Athos's idea of punishment might be exactly what d'Artagnan needed.

“As I thought. You need to learn discipline. It is good that we found out now, when we have time to properly address the lack.”

Not removing the hand from d'Artagnan's back, Athos lifted his hat off the table with his other hand. He raised his arm high and then brought it down quickly, hitting d'Artagnan's ass with the heavy brim of the hat. Without thinking, d'Artagnan tried to stand, struggling against the hand that held him down, caught up in the instinct to protect himself.

“Discipline.” Athos snapped, pushing d'Artagnan back down onto the table. “I understand that it is not easy,” and he spanked d'Artagnan again with the hat, “but you have agreed to take your punishment as I see fit. Do you not trust me to care for you in this moment, as I do in training or in the field?”

D'Artagnan slumped against the table, forcing himself to really think about what was going on. He did trust Athos, he dreamed of ways to show exactly how much, and now that he was given exactly that chance would he ruin it? Granted, he didn't want Athos to realize what an effect he was having, but even the embarrassment that would bring was secondary compared to the pain of betraying Athos and his own promise to obey.

“I'm sorry, sir. I'm ready now.”

“Good.” Athos hit d'Artagnan twice more, as hard as before. It didn't hurt, exactly, there were too many layers of clothing in the way and although the hat was heavy, it was still leather, not wood, and it was pliant. Even so, it gave d'Artagnan a hot, shuddery feeling all through him, and his cock was definitely not getting any less hard.

“Now,” Athos said, “your confession is nowhere near complete. Are you ready to tell me why you took my hat?” Another hit, hard and heavy. How could d'Artagnan possibly answer him, tell Athos what he'd discovered about himself? He might lose his place in the Musketeers, lose his brothers, for something that he didn't even fully understand.

“I don't know!”

Athos hit him again. “You don't know, or you don't want to say?”

“I don't know, sir.” What did Athos think, was he disappointed with d'Artagnan for not being able to answer his simple questions?

“We will come back to that; I think you know and are not ready to admit it, perhaps even to yourself.” Athos hit him again, and the hot feeling travelled all through d'Artagnan, shivers on his scalp and tension in his legs and arousal curling deep in his belly.

“Have you taken anything before?” Athos’s tone was still unaffected, all feelings held carefully in check, a stark contrast to d’Artagnan’s racing thoughts and heightened emotions.

“Honey!” D'Artagnan nearly shouted; he hadn't thought about it in years, but he finally had an answer to Athos's question and he was determined to give everything he could. Athos spanked him again and then paused, waiting. “I stole honey. I was a boy, my friends and I snuck into the neighbour’s root cellar and ate all the honeycombs, everyone's from the whole village, we made ourselves sick, and then our fathers made us do extra chores as punishment.” The words ran together as d'Artagnan blurted out the childhood transgression.

“Did you take anything else that did not belong to you?” He still didn't sound angry, somehow, but… perhaps curious?

“Just the hat, sir.”

Another hit from that hat, the thud of it rocking d'Artagnan forward against the table. Would it be easier if Athos were hitting him with his belt, or even his hand?

“What was the first thing you did with my hat?”

“Uh…”

“Don't think, just answer. What was the first thing you did?”

“I hid it!” D'Artagnan cried out, pushed up on his toes at the feeling of another smack as Athos’s hand stayed firm against his back. “Under the bed!”

“Good. And then?”

“Then I went to bed.” D'Artagnan flushed, knowing where the story led, not wanting to tell Athos but seeing no way out of confessing the whole thing. And did he really want this to end?

“And you did not look at it again?” The hand on his back moved a bit, back and forth between his shoulder blades, and then stilled.

“No, I... I couldn't sleep and couldn't stop thinking about it, berating myself for doing something so foolish, just like I knew you would do. I took it out and looked at it, really examined every part. And... and I thought about you wearing it.”

“Oh, did you, now. Then what?” The interested tone was still in Athos's voice. What would he think of d'Artagnan when all was said and done?

“And... well, then I decided to go to sleep, only I didn't want to crush your hat, so I put it on. Well, on my face, I was lying on my back.”

“Did you sleep?” A finger brushed the back of d’Artagnan’s neck, pulling some hair away from where it was caught in his collar. It tickled a little, but it felt nice.

“No, I ... I couldn't stop thinking. Just, with your hat there, covering my face, I couldn't stop smelling it, smelling you.”

“Good.” Athos hit d'Artagnan once more with the hat, then stepped back. “Your confession is still not complete, I can tell there is more to this story, but we can take a break here if you need one.”

“I… Thank you, Athos, but I think I'm all right. I can take it.”

“I know you can,” Athos said. “Stand up straight, hands at your sides.” D’Artagnan did as he was told, a bit unsure — it felt like Athos was finished, but he said they were just taking a break.

“Do you remember what you agreed to, d’Artagnan?” Athos's voice remained calm, he still spoke at that slow, measured pace, but there was something more underneath.

“Yes, sir. Confession, punishment, and absolution. Obedience, too, and silence unless you ask me a question.”

“That is correct,” Athos answered. He placed the hat upside-down on the table, and then moved back behind d'Artagnan, crowding up close and reaching around in front to undo his trousers.

“Hey, what are you —”

“You're only making it worse for yourself,” Athos murmured into d'Artagnan’s ear, his fingers never hesitating. “Or do you want to stop after all?”

“I'm sorry, sir.” D’Artagnan hung his head, ashamed again at his inability to follow Athos's simple orders.

“You seem to say that rather frequently,” Athos mused. “Hopefully with time that will become less necessary.”

D'Artagnan’s trousers were fully open now, and Athos slid them down, paying no attention to how the heavy leather dragged over d'Artagnan’s achingly-hard cock. Athos undid the slip-knot that tied d'Artagnan's breeches, then came around beside him again, his warm left hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. Athos pushed, urging d'Artagnan back to his bent-over position, hands flat on the table, the upturned hat directly beneath d'Artagnan's face. The hand on his shoulder moved to d'Artagnan's back, gathering his shirt and pulling it up around his chest to expose his lower back as Athos's right hand tugged at his smallclothes, pulling them down until they pooled on top of the trousers sitting around his knees.

Athos sighed, his hand slowly trailing up the back of d'Artagnan's thigh and cupping the curve of his ass. “Remember,” he said quietly, “this is for your own good.”

“Yes, sir. I need to learn,” d'Artagnan replied. He knew what was coming, and his breath caught in his chest. His fingers were cold and his legs were a bit trembly and he had never been so turned-on in his life.

“Now,” Athos said, “what happened after you put the hat on your face?”

D'Artagnan opened his mouth to answer but before he could say a word Athos lifted his hand and brought it back down in a hard spank, keeping his hand firm on the bare flesh that he had just hit. D'Artagnan shouted and then gasped — he'd dreamed so much, but had never felt anything like this before.

“Swift obedience,” Athos reminded him, spanking d'Artagnan hard on the other side.

“Yes, sir!” D'Artagnan blurted, panting hard already, every breath carrying Athos's scent from the hat in front of him, and the smell brought d'Artagnan back to the night in his own bed. “I touched myself, sir.”

“I thought so,” Athos said. He made a little humming sound, the fingers on d'Artagnan's back tracing little paths around his waist, tickling a bit. Then Athos spanked d'Artagnan again, twice on each cheek, not quite as hard as before. “Everything before this has been preparation,” he said. “Now spread your legs just a bit, brace yourself, and tell me everything else without stopping.”

D'Artagnan settled his feet slightly farther apart and rolled his shoulders, nosing deeper into the hat. Hopefully Athos would still be able to hear him. Athos began spanking him in earnest, one hard hit after another, moving down to his thighs and up across the roundness of his ass, covering every inch and rocking d'Artagnan up onto his toes.

“I stroked my cock and thought of you,” D'Artagnan started, gasping and moaning as Athos hit him after every few words. “I thought of you knowing, seeing me, and wanting — I didn't know what!”

“Good,” Athos nearly purred, spanking more slowly now, squeezing and caressing between slaps, not letting up in intensity.

“I touched your hat, pictured you wearing it. It — ahh —” D'Artagnan paused for a particularly heavy hit, swallowed so he wouldn't drool on the hat. He hadn't messed it up that night, he was determined not to do so now. “I thought about you finding out, punishing me, but I couldn't imagine this!”

Athos spanked him again, hard, his left hand coming up to the back of d'Artagnan's neck and holding his face in the hat.

“I knocked it back by accident, onto my mouth, and then I was kissing it, kissing your hat and pretending it was you.”

“Did you kiss it the way you would kiss me?” Athos asked, emphasizing each “kiss” with hard spanks to d’Artagnan’s ass.

“No, I couldn't — ohh — I couldn't risk getting it dirty, didn't want you to know —” D'Artagnan was nearly dancing on his feet now, and Athos paused for a moment, squeezing his ass firmly with one hand and stroking back down to the small of his back with the other.

“Breathe, d'Artagnan,” he instructed. “It will help with the pain as well.”

“I don't mind the pain!” D’Artagnan spoke quickly, needing Athos to know this about him but not sure what he would think. “That night, I — I hurt myself, my bollocks, and wished it was you.”

“Did you,” Athos really did sound pleased, d'Artagnan was sure this time that he wasn't just hearing what he hoped for. “It's time you did a bit of showing to go with all this telling. Get your hands down there, boy, one on your cock and the other on your bollocks, just like then. Show me what you did.”

Athos had stopped spanking him while d'Artagnan got his hands into position, but then resumed. The hits were faster, although not as harsh, so d'Artagnan wasn't knocked off balance, and he hissed in a breath as he began to stroke — he was so hard! When was the last time he had been this hard for this long without spending? Had he ever?

“Squeeze!” Athos ordered, spanking d'Artagnan right out of his reverie. D'Artagnan obeyed, clenching his hand tight around his bollocks as he squeezed his rock-hard cock with the other, groaning and gasping. “That's better,” Athos said approvingly. “So. You stroked yourself and thought about me,” he spanked d'Artagnan twice on each side, “knowing, and punishing you.” More smacks, down the back of each thigh and back up again. “You crushed your bollocks and wished it was me. Do it now, harder!” D'Artagnan did, he loosened his grip and then tightened his fist around his aching bollocks again, squeezed so hard, and hoped Athos could see how hard his cock was, how well d'Artagnan obeyed now that he was learning discipline.

“And did you spend, boy?”

“Yes, sir!” D'Artagnan stroked and squeezed and gasped and groaned and — “Yes — I spent so hard!”

“And now,” Athos spanked d'Artagnan harder than he had yet, “tell me why you stole my hat.”

“I wanted this!” D'Artagnan practically shouted into the hat. “I wanted you!”

“Good boy,” Athos said, and without slowing the spanking he reached down, knocked d'Artagnan’s hand out of the way and wrapped his fist around d'Artagnan's cock, his dripping, aching cock, and stroked. D'Artagnan spurted immediately, wildly — he spent on his chest, on the table, and worst of all, onto Athos’s hat. Sticky white streaks splashed up the side of the hat and dripped back down to the table.

“Well, that simply won't do,” Athos sighed. “I've just told Francois my hat is in perfect condition, and here you've gotten it messy after all.” He sounded — he didn't sound disappointed at all! He was just playing! D'Artagnan leaned back a bit and turned his head to look at Athos for what felt like the first time in a very long time. Athos was flushed, his eyes wide and bright, his hair starting to curl a bit at the edges. He was beautiful, and a part of d'Artagnan just wanted to stay in this moment forever.

“You'll have to clean it up for me,” Athos said, a soft smile hiding in the corners of his mouth. “You can move your hands, but only to bring it closer to your face.”

D'Artagnan slid the hat closer to himself, careful to first wipe the spend off the table with a corner of his shirt, then flipped it over to sit right side up as Athos returned once more to his place behind d'Artagnan. He grasped d'Artagnan's ass with one hand, squeezing and pulling to the side, letting it fall back into place, then slapping lightly and running his fingers over hot, sensitized skin.

“Lick, boy. I can see everything I need to from here.”

“Yes, sir.” D'Artagnan was beyond questions, floating in the soft feelings from his strong orgasm, willing to trust Athos even further than he already had. He licked out and swiped up a bit of spend on the tip of his tongue, afraid that somehow it would taste bad, even though there were nights when he would lick up his own spend and pretend it was Athos’s.

“That's right,” Athos said, back to his calm drawl. “Clean it all up.” D'Artagnan's ass was spread again, and this time Athos held him open like that, didn't seem to be about to hit him… Then d'Artagnan felt something press against his hole and he tensed, body going stiff, pulling his face back from the half-cleaned hat.

Athos immediately spanked him hard again, one side and then the other, back and forth, then paused. “What did we say about obedience? This,” one very hard slap, “this is for the first time you spoke out of turn. And this,” another slap, even harder, “is for not bending over when I told you to do so. This one,” Athos hit d'Artagnan on the other side, “is for struggling when I first spanked you with my hat, and this,” harder again, “this one is for balking when I took your trousers down. I'm sure you regret that deeply.”

D'Artagnan's ass was on fire now, no longer a heady buzz and enjoyable pain — was it because he had already spent? How much more did Athos expect him to take? “And this,” Athos hit him once more, “is for just then. Now. Can you obey at all? Or have you learned nothing today?”

Instead of answering, d'Artagnan lowered his face back to the sticky hat, bringing his hands around behind himself to grasp and spread his ass. He hoped Athos wouldn't try to take him, fuck him, he knew he wasn't ready for that even if he did want it, but more importantly, d'Artagnan knew that he had to do something to show Athos that he really did trust him.

“Oh…” Athos moaned, “now you're getting it.” Again d'Artagnan felt something pressing, moving against him, hot and slick, and he heard the sound of stroking, but he knew Athos had one hand on his back — and then d'Artagnan understood that Athos was touching himself, was stroking himself, tossing himself off right onto d'Artagnan's hole, and if he hadn't just spent he would have spent again simply at the thought of it. He felt his body clench tight and then loosen, and just as he flexed open the head of Athos’s cock slipped in and suddenly Athos was shouting, spending and shouting and covering d'Artagnan's back and biting his shoulder and spending, hot and wet and dirty, all over d'Artagnan's ass.

After a few moments Athos sighed and backed away, and d'Artagnan felt a cloth being pressed into his hand. “You can clean up and pull yourself together, take your time.”

D'Artagnan wiped up as much of the mess as he could, lacing up his breeches and trousers, tucking in his shirt; he was a bit afraid to look at Athos now that it was over. Had he learned his lesson? Certainly he would try not to lie to Athos again, and he hoped he'd demonstrated his trust, but… something still felt unfinished.

Eventually, however, he couldn't find any more buttons or laces to occupy himself with, and the spend-streaked cloth was folded nicely. The fabric was familiar, but d'Artagnan didn't realize until he finally looked up at Athos that it was his kerchief, the one he usually wore around his neck.

Athos smiled, a true smile this time. “You did well today, d'Artagnan,” he said. “And yet… I find that I hope you need further lessons on the nature of discipline.” Athos had leaned closer and closer as he spoke, until the last word was said directly against d'Artagnan's lips, and then they were kissing. It was hot and wet and d'Artagnan's lips were alive with the rough scrape of Athos's beard, and he had no idea how he'd lived so long without this, couldn't imagine going another day without being able to kiss Athos again and again. D'Artagnan inhaled, finally getting that amazing scent directly from the source, leather and gunpowder and sweat and Athos, finally Athos, in his arms and kissing him like he would never stop. Discipline was definitely something he needed to learn a lot more about.


End file.
